


The Hard Part of Being a Woman

by yoshizora



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2
Genre: F/F, allusion to period stuff but nothing explicit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 16:23:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18525202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: When it happens, it happens.





	The Hard Part of Being a Woman

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't really a projecting/venting thing, just me wondering about how characters would deal with this issue within different settings. people with ovaries have to deal with this as a constant, normal thing in life, so.
> 
> also, since Mòrag is the only human woman in the group....... well!!

Nia is the first to notice Mòrag and Brighid fall behind the group.

Their task for the morning isn’t even a strenuous one; a Puffot had stolen a child’s trinket, or some other, and of _course_ they couldn’t sit by and do nothing while the little girl wailed at them… obviously. So they’ve been chasing after the bird for some time now, but not long enough that any of them should have tired out. Even Tora continues to waddle along with sweaty determination.

But Mòrag falters, and Nia tugs at Dromarch’s mane to tell him to slow down.

“Is something the matter, Lady Mòrag?” Dromarch asks, falling back to trot alongside them. The others continue onward, shouting after the Puffot.

“I’m… fine,” Mòrag says, but the sweat on her brow says otherwise. She grits her teeth and motions for Dromarch and Nia to keep going. “Nothing to worry about.”

“Hey, if you need me and Dromarch to heal you up—“

Brighid pulls Mòrag back by both shoulders, forcing her to stop. She glares at Mòrag, never letting go of her, then smiles at Nia and Dromarch. “She isn’t feeling well. You should go after the others— they’re going to make a mess of things without supervision.”

Nia tilts her head with a frown. “You ill, or what?”

A self-conscious scowl crosses Mòrag’s face for a moment. The look alone is enough to prompt Nia that it’s a matter better left alone... or left for Brighid to handle. Curiosity probably killed the cat, and whatever.

“I’ll take her back to Corinne’s,” Brighid says, already leading Mòrag away. “You don’t need our help with catching that bird, do you?”

Nia looks off into the distance, where Zeke is trying to strike the bird down with lightning bolts and Poppi is hauling Tora over her head, as if to throw him. She brings a hand to her face. “Oh, yeah, we’ve totally got it.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of the morning passes quietly. Somehow, through great efforts, the offending Puffot is captured and spits out the stolen trinket. That child stops crying. Everyone decides to trudge over to a local café for lunch. Brighid rejoins them, and when questioned why Mòrag isn’t with her, says something vague about her feeling tired and they all leave it at that. Only Nia gives her an odd look, but she’s too annoyed by Zeke striking them all with lightning during the chase to focus on that.

While they’re still making a mess over lunch, Brighid quietly slips away and returns to Corinne’s house.

“I left her some hot tea,” Corinne explains, showing the empty tray she’s carrying. “If you need anything else, just give me a holler!”

She nods her thanks and waits until she hears the clinking of dishes from the kitchen before gently knocking. Without waiting for an answer, she enters. Mòrag is laying on her back on top of a freshly-made bed, staring up at the ceiling, her arms crossed over her chest. For a moment, it looks as though she’s asleep, but then she slightly lifts her head to look at Brighid.

“Brighid.”

“Are you feeling any better, Lady Mòrag?” Brighid crosses the room to sit beside her, and glides her fingers through her hair.

“I’ve had worse.”

“Is that why you’re posed like a corpse?”

She opens her mouth to say something, reconsiders, and uncrosses her arms to lay them by her sides. Not a second later she winces, cringing but refusing to curl up. Her body is so _stiff._

“It’s just the two of us here,” Brighid shakes her head. “Don’t try to act so tough.”

“It’s _nothing_ ,” she mutters.

Well, there’d be no point in an argument that runs in circles. Pulling a tooth out of a Saurus’s mouth would be easier than getting Mòrag to admit she’s in pain.

Wordlessly, Brighid gently rests a hand over her sternum. Heat pulses through their bodies in tandem, a little hotter within Brighid, and Mòrag softly exhales. Then the hand moves lower, and lower, until it stops right below her navel.

“Here?” Brighid’s hand flares. Mòrag squeezes her eyes shut and nods. “All you needed to do was ask.”

They sit in silence for a while, Brighid dispelling heat through Mòrag from that singular point of focus, Mòrag trying to breathe in a slower rhythm, the sounds of conversation and laughter making its way through the walls as the others return from lunch. Everyone sounds so far away. Brighid can still hear Corinne washing the dishes. Somewhere, a clock ticks the seconds away.

“When I was younger, I had often wondered…” Mòrag says, eyes still closed. “If things would have been easier, had I been born a man.”

Brighid pulls her hand away. Mòrag makes a small noise of protest and tries to grab her wrist.

“Things would be _different_ ,” Brighid says, and she allows Mòrag to place her palm back over her abdomen. “You probably would have inherited the throne over Niall, for one thing.”

“Ah… that’s true. I’d be Emperor.”

“I don’t think I would have been able to love you as I do now, in that scenario.”

Mòrag gazes at her with tiredness in her eyes and her own hand still laid upon Brighid’s, the shared heat doing its job of soothing the pain. They don’t discuss it often, only because words were never needed. When it happens, it happens. Sometimes it passes without incident, and other times she needs to lie down and keep Brighid at her side.

Brighid never begrudges her for it. For her very human flaws that she can’t do anything about. It’s just one of the many things Mòrag appreciates her for.

“I’m feeling better already, I believe—“

“No, you should keep resting.” Brighid pushes her back down when she tries to sit up. “Even if you think you don’t need to. It’s good to take a break now and then.”

“I suppose…” Any argument dies on the tip of her tongue when Brighid shifts on the bed to lie beside her, rubbing small circles and still pulsing heat from her palm. She’s tired, yes. No longer in pain, but now tired. “Thank you, Brighid.”

“Shh. You’re supposed to be resting, not talking.”

“Mmh, you're not wrong.”


End file.
